When Fate Fucked Up
by TheHeroOfKvatch
Summary: After Kenny McCormick had reached his sophomore year in South Park High School, he and all of his childhood friends had been diagnosed with mental illnesses. Something seemed quite strange, though. They can't all be mentally ill...can they? Depression, Schizophrenia...it just didn't add up.
1. Arriving In Hell

**Disclaimer: There are OCs in this story. However, they are minor characters. They are not involved in any pairings with true South Park characters throughout the story. They are spoken of, but aren't important. M for future chapters. Please read and enjoy, if you so wish. PLEASE review.**

* * *

The smell of the portly woman driving me to hell's off-silver Elantra's interior had been similar to a cheap air freshener. I looked to my right and saw my sister, Karen's small face nuzzled into my arm after she had fallen asleep. We had been in this car for about an hour now and it was starting to get claustrophobic. It was so odd not having my usual orange parka, but since they 'diagnosed' me, I had it taken from me. It made me constantly feel as if I were naked. A walking skeleton with a face that gave people nightmares. They claimed it they had stripped it from my possession because the fumes from the hood had caused me to be the way I am. I tried not to think about it. Sighing, I looked up and over to my left, at a boy I had never seen. Something about his feminine face seamed all too similar, but I couldn't place a name or a memory. The boy's eyes were a very pretty green, like the color of the trees in the mountains- when they weren't covered in snow. On his right eyebrow, there were four scars that were shaped as perfect circles, and they formed the four corners of a square, all evenly spaced out. I had no clue how someone could get scars that clean. He had very pale skin, as if he were a ghost, and his hair was a dark brown that made him look even more like the creepy child from the cover of a horror novel. I use the word 'child' loosely, as he was older than I am. Something about his entirety screamed Steven Hawking and quite frankly, it kinda scared me. His eyes seemed to be twitching and he looked disturbed, holding a crucifix in one hand and a white piece of plastic that I couldn't quite make out in the other.

Total weirdo, I had liked to think.

"Are you home schooled?" I asked, breaking the silence. He seemed to snap out of whatever limbo he was stuck in, flinching at my question. His clean but dull eyes met mine and he looked at me as if I were high. Scanning my face, his mouth slowly opened. He was as dingy as a washcloth which I had never seen. He shook his head and in a voice that sounded like it belonged to my dead grandfather, he said "I'm actually a senior at your school. I'd have graduated if all of this...whatever this is happened." The woman in front seemed to give a small laugh, as if what he said was a complete fabrication. I noticed that he had a slight lisp.

"Really? No way. I've never seen you. What's your name?" I quickly interjected, ignoring the bitch who had picked me up earlier this morning's little squeak.

"Mike Makowski." He looked over, raising an eyebrow. It was almost as though he expected me to know him. I hate to admit it, but I did know him. "You have to know me. Your friend, Kyle, usually helps me with my botany homework. Plants have never interested me since...never mind that." "You're totally not Mike Makowski!" I interjected, scooting farther up my seat, turning my torso to him. "That vampire kid? He always has red contacts. His hair is green and black!" There's no way this could be him.

"It used to be. They made everyone- EVERYONE- strip any dye out of their hair. They want us to all be 'pure'. Whatever _that_ means."

"What's that in your hand," I asked, "and not the cross, either." He opened his hand, revealing a pair of some pretty expensive fake vampire fangs. They weren't those cheap ones you get on Halloween, no, they looked like they had been molded to his own jaw, and resembled real teeth. "I'm holding on to them as long as I can. I know they'll be pried from my hands as soon as I step foot in that damn place." He must be going to this hospital for a bullshit case of, dare I say it, 'vampirism'.

"Don't use words like that, Makowski. You'll get beatings for talking like that where you're going." The woman spoke, carelessly staring at the empty road in front of her. Mike shrunk in his seat. There was no way in hell they'd beat a mentally ill person. All I've heard this woman say was complete bullshit. "Yes ma'am." Mike had said in a voice that showed how truly broken he really was.

"Do you have any friends that have also been diagnosed?" I questioned, turning my gaze down to where he now sat, slouched in his seat. "Well, I don't have friends, but I can tell you what I know happened- diagnoses wise." "That helps a lot, even if you may not think so." I reassured him, putting my hand on his shoulder for comfort. It was kind of weird being so close with someone I spoke to maybe once, if at all. But we had to stick together. Fate put us together in the backseat of this crappy car. Fate gave me the courage to ask who he was.

"Shelly Marsh, in my grade, was diagnosed with Aboulia. That's the loss of motivation to do, well, anything. Leopold Stotch has multiple personality disorder, which the doctors claimed to have already known. My neighbor, Token Black, has severe depression, which I'd have never guessed. Pete Menson, that goth kid, was diagnosed with malingering. He hates to go places. ESPECIALLY school. Henrietta Biggle has some body dysmorphic disorder. That's why she now always wears long sleeves and long necks. Phillip Pirrup-" "Pip." I interjected. I used to hate Pip. " _Pip_ Pirrup is a bibliomaniac, which I'm guessing has to do with books. Lastly, I know Damien Thorne has been claimed to have severe schizophrenia, calling himself the anti-Christ." He finished, his eyes that had retreated into his head had now returned. "That's all I know, but I'm sure there are more. What about your friends?" His thin chin tilted as he asked me a question.

"Well, Cartman has Bulimia. He was tired of being fat and started forcing himself to throw up. He's stick thin, now. Kyle has OCD, which apparently drives him up the wall- or so I've been told. Stan...Stan has Trichotillomania. He keeps pulling his hair out because of stress." I gave a weak smile, wrapping my arm around my sister. At the same time, as if on instinct, Mike and I both asked "What are you in for?"

He nodded and quickly spoke out, saying "I was diagnosed with schizophrenia. They're convinced that I _actually_ think I'm a vampire." He rolled his eyes. He then mouthed "which is really fucking dumb, if you ask me". It was then my turn to speak.

"I'm in for Oneirophrenia. They say I'm a drug addict, and because of it I dream I die every day and am always re-" I was cut off as my body nearly flew threw the car's windshield. "We're here!" The woman in the front seat turned around, smiling through red lipstick that was much too bright. Her smile seemed to falter as she glared and said "no talking from this point on." It struck a bit of fear in my heart and I shook Karen awake. She rubbed her hazel eyes and yawned.

Mike and I looked at each other with an "oh fuck" look before we both nodded. Everyone occupying the vehicle unbuckled and we were all kind of shaken as we opened the doors. All that was heard following that was the sound of car doors slamming, and the snow crunching beneath the woman's heels as she lead the three of us to our doom.

* * *

"This is your room." A new woman said, her breath held the lingering scent of cigars. It wafted around me and made me nauseous. "The boy you share this room with will be here soon." She said, grabbing my hand and leading me in. This woman had dark eyes that were a greyish color and long black hair. Dropping my hand, she ran her painted fingers through the long strands going down her back. She eyed me in a way that was probing for questions. "Ma'am..." I started, "What's your name?" "My name is Anlis." She stated. "But you should call me Mrs. Williams when others are around. When it's just me, go ahead and call me by my first name." She looked at me with a face that said 'got it?' without speaking, and I nodded. Mrs. Williams turned to leave and she stopped in the doorway.

"And kid, don't get caught doing any of that faggy stuff. It's a mental hospital, not a prison." With that, she left the room, causing the automatic door to close behind her.

Soaking up the loneliness, I started to unpack my tattered duffle bag. Mindlessly throwing my clothes on the bed, I thought about who my roommate could be. I didn't want to go through their stuff, so I'd have to wait. Looking over my shoulder, I noticed the other half of the room was completely clean. The sheets were folded and the dresser drawers were open...and completely empty.

"What the fu-" I started before the door opened again.

This time, a man stood there. He was a tall man and he was quite big. He had a name tag that read, in bold letters, "WILLIAMS ". His voice was very, very deep as he spoke. It sounded like a satanic lullaby. "I don't know if you know how things work around here, but in about thirty minutes you're going to hear a loud bell. At the sound of this bell, you will go to the cafeteria and eat your dinner. Once you are finished with that, you will head to the showers. Each patient is limited to a 15 minute shower. Don't try anything funny, I have one of my guards stationed in there where he can see any and everything. Throughout the day, there are 4 different bells. You'll have to ask around for someone to tell you where to go when this or that bell rings." This man spoke incredibly fast and I didn't catch on to what he was saying. My mind went completely blank before a loud 'BEEP' that resonated in my room had rung. It hit me hard and I flinched so dramatically I nearly fell over. By the way he was looking at me, I assumed he had asked me a question I failed to answer. "I'm sorry. Did you ask me something?" I looked up at Mr. Williams. He was not amused.

"McCormick, is it? You're good at bullshitting your way through a 10 minute lecture. Good luck."Mr. Williams said before exiting, never looking back or stopping.

I was left alone in this room as familiar faces outside were passing by my door. They didn't even know I was in there. My eyes burned. I would never know why, but I felt like something in the back of my skull was trying to attack me. To make me blind to everything. I didn't want to be here.

And those damn words rang in my head.

'Good luck'.

What the hell was THAT supposed to mean?


	2. Things Couldn't Get Worse

**The Hero: Sorry this is a few days later than intended, y'all. The third chapter will also be posted later, because I have band camp starting tomorrow and lasting until later this week.**

 **Thank you for the reviews!**

 **To the guests: Thank you so much! I'd love to continue and I'm glad you like the way I'm incorporating the characters.**

 **To RoseBadwolf1000: Thank you so much, as well! I'm glad you like it and I'd be more than happy to continue.**

 **This chapter is a bunch of spliced scenes. Most chapters won't be this way, but that isn't the case for chapter number 2.**

 **Last time, Kenny was thrown into a mental hospital with a lot of people he knew, but nothing seemed quite right.**

 **Disclaimer: Attempted suicide and assumed character death.**

* * *

Finally, the hallways were empty. Empty meant silent.

The pain in the back of my eyes went away, allowing me to think. All that was in that room was me and my thoughts; it was so quiet I could hear my blood flowing. I had to leave my own little confinement.

Sliding the clean white door open, I stepped out onto the equally as white tile that lined the hallway floors. A bit of mud that had been caked to my shoe came off onto the tile, smearing its otherwise perfect appearance. I smirked down at the floor, realizing I had just caused utter chaos. This place was going to take some getting used to.

* * *

As I sat my tray down across the table from my sister, I noticed someone I recognized next to her. There was a taller, lean boy next to her from my grade. His cold dark eyes peered into my own, making them seem even more transparent than their blue color had already. His face hid so much stress. So much anger. My eyes wandered to his arms. Both arms, from wrist to elbow, were wrapped in medical bandages. He seemed to notice my eyes scoping out his injuries, so he broke this awkward silence.

"So, McCormick. What are you in here for?" Token Black asked across the table, lifting a spoon full of mashed potatoes to his mouth. "'What am I in for'? Dude, you make it sound like we're in prison!" I laughed, slamming my hand down on the table. "But, I'm in for thinking I always die. It really happens, but they think I'm crazy. It's a load of serious bullshit." I looked over at Token as he rolled his eyes and took a big sip from his water glass.

His tone with me instantly changed.

"You think that's bullshit?!" He said, setting his plastic utensils down beside his plate. His fork laid to the right of his plate and was parallel to his spoon, which laid to the left of his plate. Token had always been a perfectionist, even without the intent of doing so. His cold eyes once again met mine perfectly, making me move back on the bench some. "I'm not even fucking crazy. You want to know what happened to me? They saw the slits on my wrists and said I was depressed." His nostrils flared with this and he opened his mouth crookedly, ultimately making a face of sheer disgust. "You self harmed...so you're depressed. It makes sense." I said in a confused tone, watching Token's too-still hands.

"Kenny." He said in a voice so serious it made my slouched back straighten perfectly. "You don't get it. Let my simplify this for you." He brought his right ad up and pinched the bridge of his nose, sitting in silence with his eyes sealed for a minute. After he had composed himself, he looked back up at me.

"Two nights ago I went to bed with perfectly fine arms. The next morning I woke up and almost died due to blood loss. There was no tape set up in the camera I have set up in my room. Someone had removed it. That means someone-"

"I need Token Black in my office!" Mrs. Williams' voice hollered through the intercom. It shook me slightly, being in so much suspense and then having the loudest woman on earth yell in the room through something that amplifies her already ear drum busting voice.

"I have to go now." Token said.

That was the last time I spoke to him for a while.

* * *

It turns out Mike and I were roommates. Things went alphabetically here, and McCormick was on the list right after Makowski. He never even unpacked. All he did was throw his bag under his bed and curled up in a ball on top of his clean and perfectly made bed, facing the wall. The only noise in the room was that of my clothes folding and being thrown into my small dresser that had small openings instead of drawers. I couldn't even hear Mike's breathing, which kinda worried me.

"Mike?" I said, staring at his back. His tight white shirt had shown his spine, and the bumps had replaced his eyes for the moment. "Are you okay?" I asked, stepping closer to the other bed in the room. "I hate it here. Just leave me alone for now." He said, barely sitting up. "It's nothing against you, I just feel upset."

"Right, man. It's okay."

* * *

Mike didn't speak to me until we were on our way to the showers. He and I walked to the boy's shower room with the people that shared the room across the hall from ours. Leopold Stotch and Tweek Tweak. It's a shame Leopold didn't go by Butters any more. It was a cute name and it fit him.

Our small herd walked down the narrow hallway that smelled heavily of cleaning supplies, trying not to bump into each other. We piled into a small doorway, before realizing what was going on. There were many lockers along the wall, each of them holding a room number. We had assumed that was where we put our clothes, and that's just what we did.

Mike and I stripped down and balled our clothes up together before throwing them into our locker. I turned around, covering my junk, to see where it was I was supposed to go. I saw a familiar face- Butters- and followed. It was kinda awkward walking behind him. He has the body of a child still, and it was all around weird for me.

We entered a slightly larger hallway lined with small rooms that had small scattered out holes in the ceiling. There were no shower heads and there were no curtains. This meant we had to shower in plain sight, with water from God knows where. I clenched the small shampoo bottle in my hand, swallowed my pride (or whatever was left of it), and walked into one of these rooms. There was a dial on the wall that I assumed turned on the shower. I set my bottle on the floor in the corner and spun the dial mindlessly.

It bit me in the ass, seeing as though I screamed out seconds later due to the pain of this water scorching my body.

After adjusting the dial to a temperature of water that wouldn't burn my skin off, I washed my hair. As the shampoo ran out of my messy hair, I stared at my feet. I felt like an animal that was taking care of itself before it was a slaughtered. A slave of someone that took care of no one but themselves.

It was hard to, but I kept myself from crying.

* * *

I woke up at around- what I thought was- 2 A.M to Mike sobbing. He was sobbing harshly, too. His whole body was shaking, it had almost seemed like he was having a seizure. His voice sounded nasally and irritated, as if he'd been crying for hours. "Mi-" "I can't fucking take it anymore!" Mike quickly cut me off, sitting up. "It's hard being away from home." His eyes met mine and they almost put the pain from his heart into mine. They were red and full of tears that continued to drip. "My mom is fucking dying, Kenny. I was taking care of her until these assholes through me in here! My dad died A LONG time ago, so I'm all she has." He screamed out at me, his voice echoing off of the walls and hitting me like bullets. "I need to get out of here. I need to." His head spun around wildly, as if he were looking for something he had lost. His neck twisted a certain way when he looked to a wall.

Suddenly, a quiet and broken laughter filled the room. The laughter was a beautiful gown sewn together with tears, only the gown was burnt to shit because this laugh scared the shit out of me. "Mike?" I questioned in a worried tone.

The laughter continued, shaking me more.

"Mike! Stop laughing it's fucking scaring me!"

The laughter sped up and he whipped his head around at me, his long brown hair hitting the wall with a light smacking sound. Right when his eyes met mine, the laughter stopped.

God help me, I thought.

"Goodbye, Kenny. It was nice becoming acquainted with you." He smirked before turning his head back into that weird angle it had been in before.

His collar bone protruded out of its normal place, pushing at his pale skin, which created a look like the bone would pop out any minute now. His jaw was at an awful angle and from the sounds coming out of his throat it was making it hard for him to breathe. As for his shoulder blades...that shit was terrifying. They both were touching and it made me wonder if Makowski had ever in his life been a contortionist.

This pose was the bane of my existence and without a doubt the most freakish thing I had ever seen.

"Mi-"

 _WHUMP._

"HOLY SHIT!" I screamed after Mike had slammed his body into the wall, causing an eerie cracking sound to bounce off of the walls of our small room.

 _WHUMP._

I jumped up as he started making animal sounds. He was trying to breathe but all that came out were little wheezes that sounded like he were sucking in a thick liquid to his throat. Blood.

 _WHUMP._

I ran to our door that was locked from the outside and started throwing my arms against it.

 _WHUMP._

"SOMEONE PLEASE FUCKING HELP ME!" I screamed at the top of my lungs. Our room was filled with the sound of both mine and Mike's bodies hitting the wall, Mike trying to breathe and it getting more difficult each time, and my small whimpers between my shrieks of terror.

 _WHUMP._

"HE'S TRYING TO KILL HIMSELF, YOU ASSHOLES! HELP HE'S GOING TO DIE AND I'M GOING TO LIVE WITH THE GUILT OF LETTING HIM!"

 _Whump._

I stopped screaming pounding. I froze in sheer terror when that last sound of his body hitting the wall was quieter than the rest. Slowly turning my head, I saw a large splatter of red on the wall and Mike's motionless body with different things protruding from his skin, causing blood to seep out of it.

Disgusted with myself I slid down the door, hitting the floor harshly with my knees. I couldn't move.

Help didn't come until minutes later.

I was sure that would be the last time I saw Mike Makowski.


	3. Then The Dreams Started

**The Hero: Well, y'all. I''m back and I got this chapter to you as soon as I could. Maybe this double length chapter will make up for it?**

 **I'd like to thank RoseBadWolf1000 for reviewing both chapter 1 and 2.**

 **Now I'd like to continue this story. There is gory imagery in the chapter. The ships actually come out in this chapter. FINALLY.**

* * *

I didn't sleep at all that night. They had me taken to a different, empty room. I slept staring out of the small window on the room's door. A light in the hallway flicked every minute or so; each time it did my left eye twitched. My body had remained so still aside from the twitch that someone could have claimed me dead. The only thing I could think of was the horrendous sound of Mike's bones cracking each time he hit the wall.

With each slam the sound resonated. Throughout our room, there was a sound similar to that of a tortilla chip being broken in half by someone's teeth. Only, it was worse. I knew it wasn't a damn chip. If only it had been...

* * *

Between breakfast and lunch a few of us were sitting in the common room around a large table and played a board game. Butters, Tweek, Stan, Kyle, Clyde, and I were laughing over a game of Clue. "I think it's" I mumbled, leaning over the board and shuffling game pieces out of order "Mustard in the kitchen with the wrench." Immediately after I leaned back into my seat, Stan jumped out of his, and shoved a card in my face calling "Bullshit!" I laughed and pushed his hand out of my face before giving him a shit eating grin. "Asshole thinks he's gonna win." Stan said, sitting back down in his chair. Looking at Stan made me wonder where everything had changed. I look at everyone around the table, craning my neck this way and that, horrified by how much everyone had grown. It were as if I was sitting at this table with strangers because of how different everyone looked from our childhood.

Appearance wise, Butters had definitely changed the most. His once bright blue eyes had faded. Once comparable to the beautiful sky, they were now more similar to the ocean after a storm. As a child he was short,pudgy, and looked much younger than the rest of us. Now, though, he was somewhat tall (between my height and Stan's) and lanky, with a well defined jaw and strong facial structure. His blond puff of hair on his head had, in the 6th grade, been changed to a mohawk that is more of a dingy golden color now. Of this group, Tweek had the most youthful appearance. His eyes were a crazy, vibrant green. His hair wasn't long like he used to keep it, it was very short and still messy. Unlike Butters, he had a very round face of pale porcelain skin. Tweek was the shortest of the group at 5'3", the only person shorter than Kyle. Kyle, who I just mentioned was the second shortest in this group of boys, still had the giant, red Jew-fro. His face was still littered with red freckles and his eyes were still a dim green that weren't very pretty, but matched his nature. At times, I'd tease him, calling him baby face. He was only about two inches taller than Tweek. Then there's Stan, with his onyx black hair and iced blue eyes that were similar to my own. His appearance was somewhat creepy at first glance, but his smile had always shown his true colors. He looked a lot like his dad, with a rounder jaw. He's not overweight, his face just wasn't exactly 'chiseled'. At 5'8", he's only two inches shorter than I was, not leaving much of a gap between him, Butters, and me. Then there was Clyde, who had grown freakishly tall. Especially last school year, when he grew four inches in 6 months. At 6'5", he's a huge guy. He was overweight, not so much as Cartman used to be, but it suited him. His eyes were this chocolate-y brown color that look nice against his chestnut brown hair. He's the only one that ever kept facial hair, which I found comical because his short and messy beard had a bald spot in the dead center of his chin. It made a complete strip where no hair grows at all.

It was crazy that now matter how much we had all changed in the past 6 years, we were our old selves around each other. Especially Kyle.

Kyle stopped laughing along with us after the incident where I falsely accused Colonel Mustard, an innocent and fictional man, of murder. Clyde thought he was right of accusing Peacock in the kitchen with the wrench. He got around the table before getting to Kyle, who didn't answer him. "Dude?" Stan asked, shaking Kyle by his thin and bony arm. "Are you okay?" "What the fuck do you mean 'are you okay'?" Kyle lashed out, pushing his chair out from the table. Here we go. Back to the bitchy rants from a Jewish, red-headed fourth grader.

"Everyone is acting calm about all of this! Even his fucking roommate. The one who watched him disfigure himself!" Kyle angrily rambled, standing up and balling his fists in the process. "He's probably dead right now! Did I know him very well? Kinda. I helped him with homework a bit. But other than that, he was a stranger! Kenny shared a room with this guy for what, two days? And somehow I'm the only one who's worried!" His jaw started to clench and his voice raised in pitch like it always had when he was mad; his voice was comparable to a cat that was being stepped on so hard that its guts spilled out of its small, furry mouth. "Kyle," Clyde said, "we're worried too, you know."

"Like hell you are!" Kyle screeched, quickly walking towards Clyde and getting in his face. "No one seems to give a shit!" He spat in Clyde's face, causing Clyde to get irritated. "There's nothing we can do!" Clyde screamed back, balling up a fist and holding it in Kyle's face. "What are you gonna do, hit me?" Kyle screamed, slapping his hand out of the way. "Just because I have- or am claimed to have- OCD doesn't mean I won't make your teeth fucking crooked!" Kyle yelled, clenching his jaw once again. Clyde smirked. "You wouldn't hit a guy with dementia, would you? I mean, I've only had two strokes! What's my life important for anyway?" He laughed out, shaking his head at Kyle. "Look, Donovan-" Kyle angrily started before Tweek jumped up, interrupting the two.

"Hey, uh, guys. Did anyone else have a weird dream last night?"

"What's your definition of 'weird', Tweek?" Butters asked, leaning forward in his seat and raising his eyes to the three boys that were already standing.

"Well, I had a dream I was being in-injected! With needles and weird wires!" Tweek said, looking around at everyone with wide eyes. "I used to have dreams like that." I spoke out. "But the needles were for heroin. This was before the incident with my parents." Sensing the cold this statement had brought, Stan immediately spoke out.

"Wires and sharp needles? What do you mean, Tweek? Like you were at the doctor's office getting a shot or surgery...or something?" "No!" Tweek screamed out, jumping nearly ten feet in the air. "More like a lab! Where scientists work. They wanted my organs or something, man, I swear!" Tweek moved his shaky hand to the back of his neck and scratched it harshly. I could hear his nails, that were crooked due to his biting on them, digging into the sensitive skin on his back. "Mike was there, too! He kept smiling at me and I just couldn't handle it! He still had his vampire teeth, too! I thought they took those away from him! I wanted to run away but gah! I was being held down by something. I was stuck to something." His face showed how terrifying his nightmare was. Butters placed his hand on Tweek's back and rubbed it reassuringly. "Aw, buddy. I'm sure no one would do that to you. Especially here. You're safe here." Butters smiled weakly at his friend, before looking into my eyes with a cold, dead stare.

I was slightly disoriented by the stare. I had never seen Butters make a face like this and I was glad as hell I hadn't until now. I honestly wish I hadn't seen it at all.

It was like he was warning me of something.

* * *

Everything from that day had gotten to me in my sleep. I had a dream that was almost exactly as Tweek had described.

I was on my back in a pure white room that was illuminated with multiple bright lights. My focus at the time wasn't on the scenery, but how my body felt. Multiple needles were being pressed into my veins, along with the ones that were already there when the dream had started. Few of them had wide tubes connected to them, but the ones that did were spewing an almost transparent purple liquid into my blood stream. I could feel my blood rushing with this thick liquid and it caused my whole body to ache, making me want to holler out in pain. The two thick liquids ran through my body, causing me to squirm. I had never felt a pain like this. Surely, my veins would burst. I have a high pain tolerance (due to my almost daily dying) which made me worry why my body was in so much pain.

After someone had finished pricking my body with needles and walked away, I decided to observe where I had been. Turning my head to the right, a thick and hot liquid ran down my face. It ran over my nose and some of it into my mouth, causing me to gag. I tightly closed my eyes in an attempt to calm myself after swallowing the ungodly substance. It had felt like blood but my there was no way I could tell at this point. The worst part is that the liquid didn't have a taste. I wasn't sure if it was the liquid or if my senses had been weakening; I know I was losing feeling and my vision was blurry. Once I had gotten over this grotesque feeling, I opened my eyes once again. My eyes focused, revealing someone who looked very familiar.

Butters was laying no more than three feet away, stripped of all clothing, with a metal contraption in his mouth. The device pulled his mouth open wide and the corners of his mouth were torn. Bright, crimson blood poured from the flapping and thin skin that was no longer whole, but shredded apart. Muscle and flesh also poured from these torn corners, causing me to gasp and swallow more of the thick liquid. The half of his face I could see was stained all over with blood and his eyes were wide open, fixated on the ceiling. He looked completely terrified. I once again gagged and tried to avert my eyes. Looking at him in this state hurt me. How else would seeing a childhood friend in this state make me feel? Then, I took notice of his legs. Both were bent and they were definitely more horrifying than Butters' mouth. Bones shot out of both kneecaps and I wasn't quite sure how or why someone could have done that to him. Blood had pooled under his pelvis and it spilled over the bed he was on, dripping onto the floor. It seemed relatively thin, but it was without a doubt blood. The room was so silent I closed my eyes and listened to the blood spilling over the bed's side.

 _Drip, drip...drip...drip._

A loud bang and a demonic hiss had come from the other side of me, and I quickly opened my eyes and looked in the direction it came from. What I saw wasn't human. It was far from human. It had human skin, but it wasn't shaped...correctly. It had a lizard-like body that was relatively thin. On its back there were bones from what seemed like its spine that were intentionally sticking out at 45 degree angles and those spikes scraped the ceiling when the creature extended its limbs and arched its back, hissing. It started circling around the bed, never making eye contact with me. Until I provoked it.

"H-hey." I weakly called out, trying to get its attention. It stopped and raised its head,which was facing the wall, before turning to look at me. Its eyes were a piercing golden color that glowed like a lantern. I nearly fainted when I saw the face.

Mike Makowski.

As it climbed off of the bed it was slowly walking on and towards me, I blinked slowly as I blacked out. The last thing I remember seeing was his face next to mine, smiling with a devilish grin. His mouth was full of pointy teeth, relative to that of a vampire.

* * *

I came to in another room. I assumed the nightmares weren't over. They couldn't have been in a place like this.

I was tightly strapped to a wooden chair and my arms were chained out in front of me on a table top. The table looked years old. It was covered in blood and scratch marks from thick nails or something else with a sharp edge. Across from me sat someone with a white hood on and all I could see were eyes. Slate grey eyes that were peering into my blue ones, making me shake as much as a restrained teenage boy possibly could. Once the person started to talk, I knew it was a girl. Or a man cursed with balls that wouldn't drop.

"Hello, Kenneth- "Kenny." I interjected. Fuck that Kenneth bullshit. "Hello, Kenny McCormick. Would you mind telling me about your parents?" I laughed at this question. "My parents? You're really going to ask me about that? Why would anyone be insensitive enough to even bring up my parents?" I continued to laugh, shaking my head at this ignorant person. "Because we've been monitoring your behavior since you were five." My heart sank with these words. "We noticed that from ages 5-12 you were very profane. You did drugs, cursed, stared at pornographic magazines, and masturbated quite frequently. We also noticed it stopped immediately following your parents' deaths." When this woman used the word 'we', chills went down my spine. I had no idea who these people were. 'We' was the sharp steak knife and I was as soft as butter, easily being cut in half and then torn apart by it.

"Well, my parents were my role models. Were. They always fought and had terrible behavior...like that...is what got them killed. I grew up thinking that type of behavior was appropriate. They were murdered because they couldn't afford drugs and tried to steal them. It was pathetic and petty of them." I said, locking my vision with the table my hands were inseparable from. "What did you do once your parents passed away?" The woman asked, reaching a hand out and grasping my own. I looked up at her with disgust when our palms touched. "My older brother, Kevin, took care of me and my younger sister, Karen. He was able to change his ways and he convinced me to change mine, too. Sure, I still have suppressed urges, but I'm not trashy like I once was." I said guiltily, looking down once again at the table. I had realized this shit was now a therapy session and it was exactly what she had wanted. She didn't seem too hung up on my feelings, though. She quickly changed the topic, antagonizing me for the sake of answering questions.

"Kenneth, are you a homosexual?" She prodded, tightening her grip on my hand. I gritted my teeth like a dog and glared up at her. "Kenny." I repeated. "And gender doesn't define who I love. Which, currently, is no one. So I wouldn't know, exactly." She snorted. She fucking snorted at my answer. "Kenneth, you surely must love someone. I'm sure it's someone who is confined here as well." I gave up on that Kenny shit and sat thinking about what she had stated. I don't recall loving someone in a way that wasn't platonic. I loved Karen, Stan, Kyle, and Kevin on occasion. There's no way she expected me to have any sexual attraction to any of them.

"I refuse to answer." I said, looking into her cold and lifeless eyes. "That's fine, Kenneth." She said, tilting her head. "Good night." A needle shot out from her hand into mine, and everything went black. I remained in this state of darkness and the only thing I heard was a quiet voice chanting _"Butters...it's Butters."_

But I wasn't quite sure what it meant.

* * *

I sat up quickly and in a cold sweat, panting loudly. With each breath I took, my chest shook violently. That was, without a doubt, the most horrific nightmare I've ever had.

I looked over to the clock and saw that it read "3:45". Sighing, I threw myself back onto the bed. I had a few more hours of sleep to take care of.

Hopefully, those hours would be nightmare free.

* * *

The next day lunch came around and it was almost surreal. I was seated alone at a table in the cafeteria, mindlessly eating a bowl of soup. Two familiar people came and sat with me, but I couldn't quite tell who both of them were. I knew the blond one's name. Pip. He still had shoulder length blond hair and bright blue eyes that were always lit up and happy, even when he was not.

The other boy was odd looking. He was definitely the most pale mother fucker I had ever seen. Though I lived in a town where the sun had never shown, this guy looked like he was glowing he was so white. His eyebrows were pitch black and thicker than any eyebrows I had ever seen; they looked like caterpillars. His hair matched in color and was also shaggy and messy. It was quite literally a mop of fur on his head. What had me taken back the most, though, were his eyes. They were a blood red color and he was staring at me with them. No, not at me. Into me. It felt like he was a newly founded part of me, he was staring so hard. He had no expression whatsoever, and he did nothing but stare. He sat completely still.

"So, Pip-" "Phillip." The other boy demanded in a deep, controlling voice. I sat up straight when his abusive tone hit me like a slap in the face. I started again. "So, Phillip. Who is your friend?" Pip looked over at me and smiled. "You don't remember?" He asked in a sing-songy voice. His eyes shot to the other boy, then to me. When I finally remembered, I jumped up, spilling scalding soup all over myself. It was the duck billed platypus kid from the third grade and Cartman's birthday party.

"Hi, Damien." I managed to choke out, ignoring my burning skin. "Hello, hooded child." He said, removing his hand that had possessively been holding Pip's to the table. Breaking eye contact, he looked to his soup, and started to eat it as if nothing had just happened. "Excuse me."I said, running off to the restrooms.

So many things went through my mind on the way there through the long, white hallway. I thought Damien, the anti-Christ, had died. And why was he holding Pip's hand? It didn't look romantic, it looked territorial. Perhaps I shouldn't worry too much about it. He might kill me if I question him. I know he's fucked up enough to do it.

When I got in the bathroom I splashed water all over my face. Then I splashed again. And again. And again. I might as well have drowned myself. I felt like I was still asleep. "Please." I whimpered quietly, hanging my head into my chest. "I wish I were home." I spoke to myself again. I looked up in to the mirror that hung in front of me. Taking notice of my red eyes, I rubbed them. I wasn't sure if they were red from lack of sleep or if I was on the verge of crying. I had to get back to my room and clean myself up. Possibly even cry. I didn't care right now, I just needed to leave.

When I opened the door to exit, I froze in the doorway at what I had seen. "What's wrong, Ken?" Butters asked me from a few feet away. He was walking on crutches and the corners of his mouth looked like they had been sewn shut. To be sewn shut, they must have been torn open.

I looked down at my hand.

"Son of a bitch." I said to myself.

In the middle of my palm there was a single red scab, where I had been injected with something.

"Kenny?" Butters asked, teetering a step closer to me. He gasped when I grabbed him by his arms and pulled both him and his crutches through the bathroom door, pinning him against it so it would be inaccessible.

"Butters! What happened to you?" I asked in a worried voice. The tone in this frightened voice had been similar to my own when I was a child. His eyes left my gaze and wandered to my feet. I grabbed his chin and forced it up, which made his eyes lock with mine once again. Tears slowly started forming in his eyes and his voice squeaked out. "I-I don't know." He sniffled. "I thought it was a dream, but I woke up like this." The beads of water rolled down his cheeks and he started shaking against me.

"Butters, please don't cry." I pleaded, letting go of his chin. "I'll figure this out."

The tears didn't stop.

"Butters, please! Stop crying! I had a dream too. Maybe you hurt yourself and don't remember?"

"Ken...shut up." Butters coldly said, out of his normal behavior. "You're lying to me. It won't get better. It just won't!" He yelled, hissing in my face.

Butters rambled for about 5 minutes before I got so annoyed with him I did something I could have never seen myself doing before. I slammed my face into his own, kissing his small and tear- soaked lips. The drying tears made his lips taste salty, but I enjoyed the kiss either way. He seemed to as well, for he started kissing back. I swear we kissed for at least three straight minutes before we pulled away for air. He looked into my eyes again, no longer crying. "Kenny," he quietly murmured to my face, which was three inches away, "I'm sorry." "Don't be." I replied before pulling my lips onto his once more. I found comfort in kissing him, and he didn't struggle, so I assumed he liked it as much as I did. It was the best kiss I have ever had.

We both pulled away when someone knocked on the bathroom door.


	4. Imaginary Injuries

**The Hero: WOW okay. The previous chapter had quite an awkward ending, no? That's kinda how this whole 'romance' part of this fanfiction will work. They're not love birds that are 'meant to be', they're mentally ill children who are lost and confused. This love is their cry out for help.**

 **I understand that chapter was also very...odd. It didn't quite make sense, did it? Well, that's the fun part! Maybe, just maybe, it'll make more sense in this chapter. Either that or you'll be even more confused. I was in a creative mood, so I decided to wake up early to write this. Please review and more importantly, please enjoy!**

* * *

I slowly backed away from the door and into a light grey wall, hitting my head on the closest bathroom stall's exterior. Butters, the now crippled boy with a dirty blond mohawk resting on his head, turned around and slowly hobbled backwards towards me. "S-sorry feller...You can come on in, now." Butters mumbled apologetically and only loud enough for the person who interrupted our mouth-fight to hear.

The door swung open and I wasn't sure if I wanted to scream, faint, or shit myself. Every muscle in my body tensed.

"Kenny!" The boy slowly strolled over to me, flicking my nose with a long and slender finger. "Sorry I was gone. One day in the shower, I had fallen over and got messed up pretty bad." He laughed childishly and tilted his head, pointing at the bandages that wrapped his torso. "But just between us, I caused myself to fall." The brunette that was playing my trauma like a game rubbed the back of his head innocently. My mouth was wide open and I had no idea what I was supposed to do in this situation. He must have found it rude that I didn't respond, seeing as though his nose curled up and his eyes narrowed. "Kenny. What the hell are you looking at me like that for?" He asked, truly clueless and unaware of the pain I felt by looking at him.

"I...don't know." I dumbly stated, trying to back away even more. My back pressed harder against the wall of this shockingly clean bathroom stall and it wasn't helping me run from my fear any. "And why are you trying to get away from me? Did you develop THAT much of a hatred for me in the time that I was gone? I somehow made you hate me in my absence?" He inquired, placing a hand on my cheek, proving how real this all really was.

"Oh, don't worry about Ken." Butters said, smiling at him childishly. Thankfully, he and Butters had been somewhat friends as children, or they had at least collaborated on their weird hobbies at some point in time. This would give him an edge to his lies that he was about to spill. "He's been having nightmares, so he hasn't had much sleep. He's super excited to see you, he just can't express it." Butters lied straight to his face and he actually believed it, seeing as though he removed his skeleton -like hand from my face. At this, I exhaled out of great relief.

"Oh, well, catch you later then." He said, wandering off over to a urinal that was against the opposite wall of where Butters currently stood propped on his left crutch. "Yea, see ya." I quickly said, exiting the bathroom as fast as humanly possible.

I was so freaked out at this moment that I ran through hall after winding hall. Once I felt I was a safe distance away, I collapsed on the floor, pounding my fists in to the tile. My mind was breaking. I was thrown into a mental hospital only to be GIVEN a mental illness. I couldn't think straight until something hard and rubber had nudged my arm. I looked up and saw Butters, who had followed behind me as fast as he could on crutches. I looked up at him, not breaking eye contact with him as I got to my feet.

We spent a few minutes staring widely into each other's eyes, unsure of how we felt. I could see confusion racing through his and I was sure he saw the fear running through my own. Finally, I broke the silence.

"What the FUCK was that? Did you see it too?" I asked, shaking to my core with how much my heart was currently racing. "Yeah, I saw it too." Butters said, shaking his head in disbelief. "I thought Mike was dead." Butters spoke up again, raising an eyebrow in question. "I didn't think he was dead." I told Butters, looking at him sadly.

"I was sure the fucker was dead."

* * *

 _"No fucking way, dude. Are you sure you weren't high on the fumes of the bathroom cleaner?"_ Stan asked in amazement. We had been sitting with the same group of people, only this time we gained a member. A short boy with hair almost as black as Stan's and hazel eyes that looked like honey. Craig Tucker.

"I'm more sure than I've ever been, I swear!" I spouted, looking to Butters. "Dude, can you tell them you saw him too?"

Butters nodded. "We were in the bathroom and Mike came in. He acted like nothing happened. That feller looked like he did before, he just had bandages. He told us he fell in the shower." The blond spoke, looking at Tweek. "He sounded crazier than anyone I have ever spoken to."

"Wait." Craig chimed in with his nasally voice. "You mean to tell me that vampire kid was dead? I saw him in the doctor's office here. I was helping that lady every day and he was there. Every day besides today he was laying on the bed in there, staring at the ceiling with more hatred than I've ever seen someone look at a wall with."

All of the eyes in the group, aside from those that were hazel, shifted to Craig. "What?" He asked in a way that revealed he was just as confused as we were. "I was just there this morning." Butters said, pointing to his crutch. "And there were no signs of anyone being there."

"Maybe because I cleaned the bed, dumbass." Craig said, rolling his eyes. "Wait." I interjected before a fight broke out. "Craig, can you take me to the little infirmary that Mike was in?" To this, Craig rolled his eyes again. "Fine."

We pushed ourselves out from the table and walked side by side down a long hallway that I didn't even know existed. The silence was painful and Craig didn't even speak a word to me the whole time we were walking. We had never talked much in the past, but this was ridiculous. I wanted at least a sentence or two to make it less awkward.

He stopped at a door with a sign that read, in small black letters, 'Dr. Williams'. "Great, another Williams." I mumbled, opening the door. I stood in the doorway and turned back to Craig. "Hey, Craig." I said, looking into his eyes. "Yeah?" He said in an impatient tone. I simply raised my left hand, flipping him off. His blank expression remained as he flipped me off as well, whispering "Up yours, you dick." He then walked away and I entered the office.

Standing up and hunched over a computer, I saw the woman with black hair from before. She turned and looked at me, smiling. "Hello." She said. "You can come in." I sat on a small chair beside the desk she was leaning over. "Anlis? I thought you were 'miss' not 'doctor'." I looked up at her as she now stood up straight. "There are a lot of things you don't know about me." She smiled in a creepy way, locking eyes with me.

Slate grey eyes and a voice that was familiar. One I had heard in my dreams.

She held out a hand. "It's nice to see you." I was worried, but I winced and shook her hand, expecting another needle. A needle wasn't there to inject me, thankfully. "Why are you here, McCormick?" She asked, sitting across from me.

"Did you have a patient here named Mike Makowski?" I asked, looking down at her face. "Yes. He actually was released this morning." She blandly stated. "Why was he here? Like, what happened to him?" I asked, leaning forward and resting my elbows on my knees.

She sighed and looked at the ground. "He tore himself up pretty bad. I guess he tried to make it appear an accident, but he slipped around in the shower a few times. Broke most of his bones in his torso. It's a miracle he's still alive." Tell me about it. She shook her head before looking back up at my face. "I don't get it. So many patients have been purposely hurting themselves. First Token Black. Then Mike Makowski. Just this morning, Leopold Stotch came in and he's permanently crippled now." "You're kidding, right?" I laughed, shaking my head. She huffed. "Excuse me?"

"You expect me to believe these people hurt themselves? Bullshit! I know you were the one that did this to them! Do you remember this?"I laughed, launching my palm out in front of her. She stared blankly and unamused at it. "Yes." She stated. "That is your palm." "Do you notice anything special about it?" I asked with an evil grin, knowing I had caught her in the act. "No. It's perfectly fine."

I looked down at my palm. Sure enough, the mark from before was gone. There were no signs it had ever been pierced.

She stood up and walked to the door. "I think you should go."

* * *

I stared at my perfectly unscathed skin. It had been a day since my incident in the infirmary, but it still made me confused. How did the marks from the needles all go away?

I was sitting on the edge of my bed, half naked, carefully examining my whole body. I KNOW I had been hurt. There was, without a doubt, a scab on my hand earlier that day. Where it went, I have no idea, but I know I hadn't fabricated it. I balled up my fists and raised them up in frustration. Just as I was about to slam them down on my bed, my door opened and someone came inside.

"Feeling better, Kenny?" Mike asked, closing the door behind him. I simply nodded, refusing to make eye contact with him until he stood right in front of me. "Did you miss me?" He asked, in a tone that was serious. I looked up at his eyes only when I spoke. It was like staring into a nightmare when I said "Yeah, dude, I did." My eyes dropped back to the floor. "I missed you too." He said, walking over to his dresser.

"I saw you were in distress yesterday. What happened?" He asked, digging through a drawer to find another white shirt; white was the only color we were allowed to wear. I swallowed, feeling how dry my throat was.

"Damien caught me off guard and I spilled hot soup all over myself. It was no big deal. It just worked me up." I didn't entirely lie. Damien had gotten to me, yes, but he had even more so. A soft plop was heard when Mike stripped his current shirt off before bending over and reaching down to get a new one. "Hey, Kenny?" He spoke out. "Yeah?" I answered. He gave me no response.

I looked up at Mike to see why he hadn't answered. His bandages were gone and there were no traces of him ever being injured or his skin even being broken and scarred.


	5. Hitting Where It Hurts Most

**The Hero: Goodness. The way I'm chopping up these chapters and ending in weird place is even throwing off MY groove! Y'all must hate me because it's so inconsistent. So, I'm incredibly sorry if I upset anyone with my awful timing. This is my first story and I'm trying to stick to the theme of 'Mystery' by not completely revealing the theme and throwing curve balls.**

 **Honestly, there's no way in hell the plot could make sense at this point. There's just so much going on that nothing can really be clear. You may be piecing together parts of it, but the ultimate conflict hasn't been revealed yet. If all goes well, I hope to(after I finish this story) write a sequel fic.**

 **I plan to write this one as quickly as possible but there are no guarantees.**

 **Sorry for the long wait. Also, I'll be in out of state (leaving today) for this week so I'll start writing the next chapter when I'm back.**

 **Warning: Character death (It was necessary for him or her to die from the get-go. Sorry).**

* * *

 _"Why can't I breathe?"_

I quickly sat up, lifting my heavy head off of the cafeteria table. My head felt as though it were full of stones and there was this painful knot just above the bridge of my nose, making consciousness barely attainable. The lack of sleep I had been getting was messing with me. Each and every day someone hurt themselves and two days later they'd be fine. Perfectly fine, in better shape than they had ever been. Everyone had gotten significantly stronger, too. No one worked out or did any activities that could've built so much muscle, but no one seemed to question it. It were as if we had all been taking steroids and didn't want to share our experiences in doing so.

South Park really was a town full of rednecks, rejects, and retards. I wasn't quite sure which category I had truly fallen in to.

I rested my elbow on the clean table, placing my forehead in the palm of my hand. Staring down at the plate in front of me, I had realized the eggs from my breakfast had wound up in my hair while I slept on them. I ran my long fingers through my shaggy blond locks and felt that there were thick clumps of something just above where my forehead met my scalp. Hopefully the bell signaling our shower time would resonate soon, because I felt as though looked like a fool currently. It became apparent when and old friend sat across from me, pointing it out to be a dick. Hell, he was a dick.

"Aww. Saving that for later, po' boy?" Eric laughed in my face and set his plate down on the table just across from me. It really bugged me, because his large knees knocked into my own, thin ones.

"Shut up, you fucking dick sucker." I hissed at him. Eric hadn't changed at all aside from the fact he got taller and thinner, recently. A light bulb lit up in my head and I got a sly grin. "Are you actually going to eat? Are you not scared of your food this time, you little cunt?" At this Eric dropped his fork, looking at me with a terrified look that quickly turned into a face that belonged to an animal that was about to strike. I actually stiffened up and leaned back in what I could only describe as fear. Though he wouldn't hurt me, Eric wasn't someone to mess with.

"Look, Kenny, let's get fucking real. You're poor, not stupid." He said calmly, picking his fork back up and wiping it off with his napkin. He hadn't even made eye contact with me as he spoke."I live in the same conditions as you right now, you punk." "Whatever, let me finish. You know good and damn well this shit is all a set up. I wasn't scared of my food. I just started rapidly losing weight and my whore of a mom thought I was intentionally doing it. Hell, she's probably the one who poisoned my food to do this to me!" He howled, wiping the fork once again for good measure.

"A set up?" I asked raising an eyebrow. "How so?" Playing coy could get me more information. I'd rather not pass up this opportunity.

"You're fucking serious?" He shot at me as if I were kidding. I knew it all too well, but I'd never pass up on good information.

"More serious than I've ever been." I reassured. Eric wasn't that great of a friend, but he and I just worked. We could talk shit about other people, and to each other, all day long. It was an odd friendship but I didn't regret it at all. We both fucking hated each other but that's why we were friends.

"Well, I'm sure you know that fag Butters. If you've seen him, you know he had his legs broken, right?" Eric asked, raising a thick, brown eyebrow. I nodded and pushed out my hands, urging him to continue. The word 'fag' rolled around in the back of my mind. I had just been lip locked with that 'fag' a few days ago. "Those assholes running the place, especially the bitch with black hair, will tell you he did it to himself. However, they did it to him. They call everyone in for a checkup. They'll tell you it's a special case of your body not having enough oxygen in your bloodstream and they'll pump this weird purple liquid shit in your body." I shifted uncomfortably in my seat as he said this, remembering my dream.

"When this shit gets inside you, you'll pass out and start having dreams like you're hallucinating. Then, it'll make you think of what you love being destroyed- even if you don't know it's what you love. Wanna know the worst part? They'll break your bones sometimes. Only if you're weak. They'll fucking tear you apart and the worst part is that it's never enough to kill you." He seemed unaffected by these facts as he shoveled eggs into his mouth like nothing. He looked straight into my eyes, and in a regular tone, he stated something that sent chills down my spine.

"They broke my back in 22 different spots, and here I am. With perfect posture and the ability to walk."

"Cartman, what the hell?"

"Eric." He stated flatly. "And yepp. It hurt like a bitch, but it worked. I hear they started when that kid Mike tried to kill himself."

* * *

I stood stark naked in the small shower stall and leaned against the wall. The cool tile rested against my skin that was now littered in goosebumps and I audibly shivered. I hadn't actually showered yet, I just stood there, debating whether or not I had the will to turn the fucking thing on. Twenty minutes had passed since the start of shower time, and everyone else had already finished up and left. Everyone except for me, that is. I sighed and rested my head against a wall when one of the male guards walked by. "Either shower or get out." He said sternly, walking passed me as if he hadn't just addressed me in such a rude tone.

I groaned and stood up, placing a hand on the handle that slid between "HOT", "COLD", and "OFF". I had only taken cold showers before, so I decided I'd experiment today. Pushing to my left, I turned the shower all the way to "HOT". God, did I regret it.

The water hit me and I exhaled, waiting for it to heat up. Surely, no idiot would give a 'mentally ill' child water hot enough to do some serious damage. In the case that I were actually mentally ill, which I'm not. Then the water started to get warm enough to where I was proven wrong. I whimpered quietly as beads of water that were hot enough to boil eggs rolled off of my back. Shaking, I placed my hands on the wall allowing the water to have its way with my sensitive skin. My whole body felt a burning sensation and I tried my hardest to not curl up into a ball as the rain of what felt like acid burned my whole body. This whole experience felt like a call to reality.

My body slowly grew weak and I fell to the floor against the wall, resting my chin on the tile and staring up at the ugly metal ceiling. Soon I lost my vision and went light headed. Everything faded to black, with fuzzy blotches of color here and there. Everything hurt though I felt numb all over and my breath was caught in my throat. Breathing was nearly impossible. I think I had passed out in there, because I fell over and smashed the back of my head on the opposing wall.

I was wide awake once the water hit my face and every muscle in my body tensed up. I fought the pain and stood up, washing my hair as quickly as I possibly could.

I had groaned the whole time, one was loud enough to draw attention, but it was finally over and I shut the shower off with a relieved sigh. My whole body was a sickening bright shade of pink that made me look like a shrimp. I doubled over and sat on the floor of the shower, breathing heavily and being glad the torture I had done to myself was over.

The room was so quiet I was sure no one was there until I heard slow footsteps moving in my direction. I assumed it was the guard coming to tell me to get out, so I slowly stood up, using the wall as support. I stepped out in to the long hall and saw that the person coming towards me was not a guard, but Mike Makowski. I could never seem to shake this mother fucker.

Thankfully, he saw I was in pain and walked me back to our room.

* * *

"You mean Eric really said that?" Clyde asked in an extremely worried tone, widening his eyes. "Yeah, that's right." I told the brunette, smirking viciously. I hadn't told him this to warn or inform him, I did it simply to get a reaction out of him. He was just so over dramatic and I had to try very hard to keep down a laugh. Had I know he'd go completely psycho, I wouldn't have told him what I did.

Clyde's chocolate brown eyes dilated to be too small for even a grain of rice to pass through them. He got this wicked grin across his face and the rest of us looked around at each other in what seemed like a previously practiced pattern. Stan to Kyle, Kyle to Butters, Butters to Craig, Craig to me,and me to Clyde. He clasped his hands together, closed his eyes, and bowed his head. "Clyde, buddy, you okay?" Stan asked in a shaky tone, taking a step back.

The brunette took a very deep breath, before simply asking: "Has anyone noticed that only bones and skin have been broken?" We all went back to the pattern, however Kyle was not a part of it. Instead, he decided to speak up. "Now that you mention it, yeah. No organs have been ruined yet." Kyle replied to Clyde, who now opened his eyes wide. "Exactly, Kyle. I'm glad you see it that way."

Craig leaned to me and placed his mouth by my ear. "Dude since when did Clyde get relatively smart?" Craig asked me before pulling away and looking up at my eyes. I shrugged. How the hell was I supposed to know?

"Who is everyone's roommate?" Clyde asked out, looking around at all of his terrified friends. "Tweek." Butters stated. "Token." Kyle chimed in, seeming no longer worried. "Pete." Stan shrugged. "That other goth kid...Michael?" Craig said in his always nasally voice. "Mike Makowski." I said. Clyde grinned at this. "Who here has the most...expendable roommate?" Clyde asked.

All eyes around the circle instantly focused on me.

"Kenny," Clyde stared, smiling at me, "You have to stab Mike to see if his organs will also regenerate."

After about an hour of pointless arguing (which was everyone against mr. McCormick), it was finally settled. I had to attempt murdering Mike Makowski.

* * *

As soon as Mike's breathing had completely evened and he stopped stirring in his sleep, I knew it was time. I slowly sat up, cringing at the squeak my bed made when my back left a certain stubborn spring in the center of the mattress. Thankfully it hadn't been enough to wake Mike up, or I'd have been in trouble. My right hand slipped smoothly and silently underneath my pillow case and I grasped the plastic covered scissors and frowned at the boy I was about to murder. I was quite literally going to back stab someone who had done nothing wrong to me.

My feet lightly pressed against the floor, and I lifted myself off of my bed and started walking towards the other boy's bed. I inhaled deeply before letting go of the scissors' blade and switching my grasped to the handle in my dominant hand. My left. My palms were sweating heavily and I had awkward and staggered breathing. I straddled Mike's left side and he suddenly woke up. He tried to jump out from underneath me but he couldn't. "Kenny? Wh-" "Mike, I'm sorry." I quickly interrupted.

I stabbed the blade of the scissors into his back where I was sure his heart would be. He thrashed beneath me and sputtered, unable to grasp any words. Blood started coming from his mouth and the sound of sucking up blood and breathing in jagged patterns commenced. Mike's green eyes met my own and they had such a look of pain and confusion that I couldn't help but lay my torso across his arm and cry. Now blood and my tears ran down his face as he weakly tried to push me off.

I cried even after the broken breaths and pushes stooped. I cried even when he stopped moving completely and he had gone completely pail, his crimson blood staining his face. I took the scissors from his back before walking to our small window and pushing them through the crack in between our window and the wall, causing them to fall through a hole and to the outside. I wiped my face clean of tears before running to my door and pounding on the walls. All evidence needed to be gone.

"HELP! I THINK MIKE KILLED HIMSELF!"

It only took about two minutes for someone to unlock our door and I doubled over in the hallway, where tears started falling once again.

* * *

The next morning we were all called in to the common room and Mike Makowski's death was announced to us. I glanced over at Clyde who stood only a few feet away and he grinned, knowing his suspicions were confirmed.


End file.
